Defiant, sensuous portraits of the transmasc & non-binary community

Around a decade ago, Orion Isaacs was sitting in a New York café during their six-year stint living in the city, when they looked to their side. On the adjacent table was a person who had an aura about them that Isaacs couldn’t quite grasp, but felt a pull towards. ​“I remember thinking: ​‘I don’t know what it is about this person, but they are just so beautiful and I’m going to need to talk to this person,’” they recall. ​“It turned out that feeling was mutual.”

The pair introduced themselves, spoke for some time, before sharing contacts and going their separate ways. It was a fleeting, pleasant moment that Isaacs largely forgot about until they were scrolling through their social media years later, when a familiar face popped up on their feed. It was that same person from the café, but since their original encounter the person had begun medically transitioning, while also changing their name. Isaacs instantly sent a message and they have kept in touch ever since.

The writer and director had also changed their name and was going through the process of their own transition themselves, and reconnecting gave them a sense of affirmation. ​“It’s always surprising when you meet someone brand new, and you have this kind of shorthand, or understanding,” they continue. ​“For a world that’s telling you that your experience doesn’t exist and does everything it can to invalidate it – you have this shorthand that goes deeper and beyond language.”

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Celebrating that experience – of being trans in the modern western world – is the subject of t‑fags; Isaacs’s collaborative photography project with their partner, photographer El Hardwick. It features intimate, oftentimes sensual portraits of trans men, transmasc and non-binary people that harken back to traditional queer erotica – but instead of cis gay men, the series focuses the lens on people with similar gender nonconforming identities and experiences as the duo.

The idea for t‑fags first came around when Hardwick and Isaacs would visit LGBTQIA+ bookshops, where they realised that there was a gap among the shelves. ​“We’d seek out the photography book section, hoping inside that this book existed, and it didn’t,” says Hardwick. ​“I have a particularly vivid memory of going to [London LGBTQIA+ bookshop] Gay’s the Word, and they have this great shelf of archival, second-hand photobooks, and there were a lot of these male physique, black-and-white, Robert Mapplethorpe-esque books, with really lush photography that hold a lot of weight and queer prestige.”

Using a mix of open calls and reaching out to people from their circles, Hardwick and Isaacs found a group of participants, who they worked closely with to bring their visions to light. There are candid solo portraits, brought to life by a subtle look or arm raise, standing against dynamic shots couples making out and touch lighting cigarettes. The result is a range of motions and emotions, which ultimately mirror their own visions of the world.

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“I remember we had this time in the park quite early on in our relationship, where we were experimenting with filming each other wrestling, and then taking stills from it,” says Hardwick. ​“That felt like quite an early sort of moodboarding.”

As the project swung into gear, they ended up building and building upon those ideas, while retaining the importance of collaboration. ​“We created this extensive moodboard with a range of aesthetics,” explains Isaacs. ​“But what we ended up creating with the participants was also dictated by what their fantasies were – what they were drawn to on the moodboard and where they were coming from. We wanted to actualise their fantasies and explore them, rather than they be actors and we were just trying to actualise our fantasies.”

The aim was to create space for people to fully express themselves, though occasionally they were met with concerns, particularly over the series’ title: t‑fags. ​“Some people came in with full force, like: ​‘Yes, finally a chance to be my faggy self and have that captured,’” they continue. ​“And then there were other people who were like: ​‘Actually, I don’t know what my place is with this word – I actually have some hesitations and feel like treading lightly.’”

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It’s an understandable line to take, given that the term ​‘fag’ has been used as an offensive pejorative towards queer people – and especially gay men – for over a century, with generations of oppression built into it. But for Hardwick and Isaacs, its usage acts both as a sense of reclamation, as well as an umbrella-type tool to express their  identities.

“There’s this great book by Larry Mitchell called The Faggots & Their Friends Between Revolutions, and there’s this particular quote that equates the ​‘fags’ and their friends with the fairies,” says Hardwick. ​“So actually, these specific identities don’t separate all the characters, and it’s more like anyone who is othered or marginalised becomes one of them.”

Hardwick and Isaacs are currently crowdfunding to turn the project into a photobook, which they hope will ultimately fill that gap among LGBTQIA+ bookstore collections. But beyond that, creating something physical would be affirming not only for them, but the wider trans community. ​“I do think it’s important that this becomes a book,” says Hardwick. ​“Just seeing the images not on a phone screen, with a tangible quality.”

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“And so often queer culture isn’t celebrated in the here and now – it’s sexy and cool to do in retrospect,” Isaacs adds. ​“We really want this not to have to wait 30 years in order to make the culture now feel sexy – that feels important.”

Support the publication of t‑fags by El Hardwick and Orion Isaacs via the crowdfunder here.

Isaac Muk is Huck’s digital editor. Follow him on Bluesky.

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